


Against The Storm

by MaladyOfReverie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Sex, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostate Examinations, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaladyOfReverie/pseuds/MaladyOfReverie
Summary: The situation was simple: Sherlock needs a doctor. John is a doctor. The answer was blatant and straightforward. Maybe just this once it will be okay that John Watson’s life is never simple.





	Against The Storm

**Author's Note:**

>   

> 
> **Please, do not copy my fics to other websites. My fics are my emotional life jacket, please respect my boundaries. ♥**

John arrived home late, bones cold and hair wet from the small drops that had started falling upon his making it out of the cab. By the time that his jacket was off, and he was seated in his chair, the rain was absolutely pouring; pounding against the windows now, and he was happy to find that Sherlock had kept a fire burning upstairs. He pushed off his shoes with his toes and closed his eyes, exhaling a triumphant sigh of comfort. Tomorrow was his day off, he could sleep the whole thing through if he so desired. Having a clear schedule was like an orgasm of knowledge.

His muscles tensed and the flash behind the glass made the blue in his eyes bright. The loud roar of thunder boomed in his ears, and behind it he could hear a loud noise in the bathroom. It sounded like Sherlock had slipped in the shower; hopefully that was the case, but more likely it was another ‘experiment’ that concluded nothing other than how to blow up the toilet.

John’s fingers grasped tightly to the arm of the chair without any conscious effort or decision, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe steadily as the thunder growled violently over London, and the lightening continued to brighten the room like sunlight. The shadows became more vivid with every breath, until the shadows were not shadows any more, and the air was dust, and the floor was blood, and the room was Hell. His chest felt heavy, and his mind suffocated.

Sherlock’s voice found him lost and guided him back to the path. John’s eyes opened, and he caught his breath. He had heard Sherlock call his name, but he looked around to find himself alone in the room, and so stood up and shouted down the hall.

‘Yes?’

‘John, I need you.’

John sighed. ‘For what? Sherlock, I swear to god, if you want me to let you shoot anything at my face again, I’ll-’

‘John, I need a doctor!’

John was both concerned and suspicious, which was enough to offer slight distraction from the storm.

‘What for?’ he asked.

‘The door is unlocked.’

John’s reluctant fingers rolled over the bathroom doorknob. He twisted and pushed in.

The room smelt like shampoo and bathwater. Sherlock’s naked body was bent over the sink, his back turned to John. He trembled slightly as the small push of cool air followed John in. John had seen Sherlock nude on a fair amount of occasions, but still his eyes wandered over the skin, his imagination wandering with it. However hard John tried, and however much he managed to physically restrain himself, Sherlock had full control of his libido when he walked in a room, and that was fully dressed — this was maddening. He had to close his eyes as the small tremble of Sherlock’s body sent a flush of blood to his cock.

‘Are you okay?’ John asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

Sherlock made a small noise and his elegant fingers clenched into a fist.

‘My prostate,’ he replied.

John’s eyes opened wide and he inhaled a sharp breath. _His- he doesn’t actually expect me to- his!_

‘Your prostate? What’s wrong with it? Do you need to go to the hospital?’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘No.’

John's eyes felt like they were glued open. His heartbeat kept rising until his body became the storm. He couldn’t hear the thunder over the pounding in his ears, or the rain over the sweat forming on his forehead.

‘John,’ Sherlock whimpered.

He felt badly. His friend was asking him for help, trusting him for help, even in such an intimate place; and John was hesitating. His own indecent desires were weakening him and leaving Sherlock’s pleas helpless. He closed his eyes and took a grounding breath.

‘Sherlock, do you want me to examine you?’

Sherlock didn’t reply for a moment, but then nodded. John made a sigh that almost became a grunt. Frustrated and low.

‘It will be a little uncomfortable. And we might still have to go to the hospital after.’

Sherlock again nodded.

John sighed, lighter this time. ‘Okay. Let me get something to lubricate with.’

John quietly walked downstairs, knowing that there was nothing proper in the flat. He was frustrated with himself for not stocking the bathroom cabinet with every possible thing Sherlock could manage needing, but he would go out tomorrow and fix that. Until then, he knocked lightly on Mrs Hudson’s door. He had attempted not to sound too desperate, but had overcompensated and now the knock sounded like a small child, about to sheepishly admit to some misbehaviour. Hopefully she just wouldn’t ask, but that wasn’t much like Mrs Hudson, and she of course was prone to her assumptions.

‘John, Dear!’ a warm smile greeted him in the doorway. ‘You’re home late, you know. Is everything all right?’

‘Fine, Mrs Hudson. I just was... cooking-’

Mrs Hudson smiled a little, seemingly holding back a laugh. So far the lie was going well.

John cleared his throat. ‘Do you have any olive oil, by chance?’

‘I think that I do.’

‘Would I be able to have some, please?’

‘I can’t see why not. How much do you need?’

John thought for a moment. He tried his best to look as though he were doing measurements in his head. ‘If you could just give me a small mug, or something, that would be fine. I will get some more back to you tomorrow.’

She laughed slightly, taking the oil out of the kitchen cabinet. ‘That’s all right, John,’ she said, hardly expecting to actually get anything back from him.

‘Thanks,’ John said. He took the mug from Mrs Hudson’s hand. He was trying to hold back either a sneer or a blush, he wasn’t sure which, but the sensation was strong as he rushed to get back upstairs.

‘Sherlock?’

The bathroom door was open as it had been left. Sherlock was still leaning, this time against the sink rather than over it, with his arms crossed into a comfortable pillow for his chest. He put his hands under him again when John came into the room.

‘I have some olive oil. Now, I don’t want any arguments, it’s all we have. If you want any alternative, we have to go to the hospital. Is that what you want to do now?’

Sherlock shook his head.

John sighed in resignation to his commitment (which Sherlock was taking by stubborn force) and began to pull the sleeve of his jumper up his arm. He reached for the box of gloves that he kept in the bathroom.

‘This is going to be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt if you don’t panic or clench around me,’ John explained, as he slid a glove over his hand. ‘You might feel like you have to, or are going to piss, okay? It’s normal. Try not to piss on me,’ he said, laughing a little and trying to break the awkwardness. Sherlock remained silent as the grave.

John lubricated his fingers generously and took a small breath before coaxing Sherlock’s legs wider apart, and gently rubbing his finger over his hole. The oil felt cold. It made Sherlock shudder, and his body tighten in on itself. He tried to loosen, but John was pushing slightly impatiently and it was not convincing anything.

‘John, stop.’

John stopped moving his finger along Sherlock’s entrance, but followed it with a frustrated sigh.

‘Sherlock, if this is going to be too difficult for you, we should go to the hospital.’

It was a confusing situation for both of them, because John was nearly positive that Sherlock knew he had meant,

‘Sherlock, this is difficult for me, and I want to go to the hospital.’

But Sherlock’s response didn’t imply that he did know this, because instead he replied,

‘No. I just need to breathe for a moment. I just need to relax.’

Which actually meant,

‘I know what I am doing, and I feel guilty for it, but I also don’t want to stop.’

John slowly rubbed up and down over Sherlock’s hole, not pressing in the slightest. Sherlock continued to breathe and his breaths became steadier and steadier. John gently pressed and this time Sherlock remained loose, and John’s finger was allowed to smoothly and easily enter him. Sherlock made a positive noise; the sensation wasn’t painful. John’s body wasn’t sure how to react to the sound, but though he tried to focus on Sherlock through a completely medical lens, it wasn’t possible for him. As he gently moved in and out, carefully moving deeper, preparing a prostate exam as he had countless times, he was taking much more time than usual and he was enjoying it. And though Sherlock had gone silent again, John kept hearing that small noise in his head.

Sherlock dropped his head onto the sink. He had been listening to the storm worsen, and imagined the amount of water drowning his neighbours. He felt a little drowned himself, his mind swimming and his senses swirling. The slick sound of John pulling his fingers out of him left his arse feeling cold and empty, and a little uncomfortable with just his two fingertips rested inside of him. John poured some extra lubrication onto his hand, and slid with ease back into Sherlock’s body, making him feel full and whole again. John’s fingers were big, and they stung as they were pushed further inside of him. He bit down on his lip as he tried achingly not to clench or squeal. But the feeling was obscene, and as soon as John pressed against his prostate, Sherlock made a sound just as obscene. John’s cock reacted, throbbing in his pants, aching to be let out.

‘I…’ John tried to play it dumb, or maybe his mind just wasn’t working at its best. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No,’ Sherlock moaned, the vowel rolling lazily off of his tongue.

John nodded to himself, and returned to gently examining his friend’s gland. Sherlock’s moans were quieter now, but still audible. And actually, Sherlock’s obvious struggling to keep his cries low were only making John harder.

‘Sherlock.’

John’s fingers stilled, and with them Sherlock’s whole body.

‘Sherlock, you’re fine. There is nothing wrong with your prostate.’

Sherlock shivered, and took a deep breath. ‘I know.’

John’s stomach twisted. His mind began running thoughts and questions and _Why this? What is he doing now? _The storm continued, louder. The thunder roaring like a lion making claim of the city, and the rain beating people, and their possessions and their ideas to their deaths.

‘Why did you lie to me?’ John asked, breathing through his nose and trying to stay calm.

‘I didn’t-’

John’s throat made a low growl, and he moved his feet around under him. Just a few steps, just the beginning of a frustrated mess.

Sherlock started again, ‘I didn’t lie. I told you I… needed you.’ his head fell upon the sink and he was quiet for a moment. When his voice came back, John thought that it sounded damper. And it did. Sherlock could feel the small sting in the back of his throat, as a few tears fought him to roll down his cheeks. ‘I told you that I needed you, in here, in me, and I did. I do.’

‘Sherl-’ John closed his eyes, ‘-I don’t know what you want or what you need, but I know that you don’t need it from me. And I don’t want to give it to you.’

The words hurt him to say. John could feel them coming back into him, sliding through his veins like venom and burning his heart. Sherlock could feel it, too. He could feel it everywhere, but before the venom flowed in, his body trembled from the cruel bite.

‘Then why are you still inside of me?’

John looked down at his hand, at the openness and the connection. With his patients he had done this a thousand times; textbook, really. Never a sexual experience between them, but he was looking at his hand, inside of a man as it had been a thousand times before, and it was far from professional. He was inside of Sherlock, in their bathroom, in their home, in their city and they were one, complete being. Where Sherlock’s body ended, John’s began, and vice versa. He wanted more. He wanted it to be undeniable, their bodies joined and contorted. His cock ached and told him what he couldn’t tell himself, he couldn’t lie to his body and convince it what it needed and didn’t. It would be no different than willing himself life without water.

‘Why are you pressing into me firmly, possessively. Your heart rate is increased, and your initial stress-induced sweat isn’t stress induced now. Your fingers have a slight restlessness commonplace with excitement, probably due to arousal. Your breathing is unsteady and your vocal patterns continue to vary, becoming deep and wanton before you realise and restrain yourself. And now your heart rate is accelerating quite a bit more, and-’

John slowly slid his fingers out of Sherlock with a slick sound, and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

‘-a…and,’ Sherlock looked into John’s burning eyes, ‘do I look nice, Doctor?’

John’s nostrils flared and he gripped harder into Sherlock’s skin, ‘Shut up, Sherlock.’ He pressed their bodies against each other aggressively, and with little restraint. Quickly his lips were sliding against Sherlock’s, gripping on with puckering and nipping and sucking. John’s lips were soft like rose petals and the sensation of his wandering tongue exploring him made Sherlock’s eyes drift shut into an ecstasy he had long thought unachievable. _Yes, John. Learn me. Know me. Draw a map with your tongue, and keep me in your mind’s eye._

‘Ah, Sherlock.’

Sherlock’s tongue slowly followed John out of his mouth, and stopped just before his own shapely lips. The inexperienced, pure gesture basically took John by force back into him. John gently ran his fingers over Sherlock’s cock as he filled himself with the taste of his mouth.

‘I’m going to hurt you.’

Sherlock shook his head. He pressed his lips against his ear, ‘I play myself… I think of you.’

John groaned and picked him up in his arms. ‘Oh, God. Your room, yeah?’

Sherlock smiled. ‘Yes.’ he turned the knob and John pushed them into the bedroom.

John pulled his lips away from Sherlock long enough to notice the cleanliness of the candlelit room. Not a simple tidiness, but everything organised in place, in a tasteful way, or else hidden away. The room was made up for them, for this. John laid Sherlock down onto the bed, which had been dressed with new, white sheets and a thick, red blanket. This moment had been heavily premeditated. And it should have been, after all Sherlock was — that is that he had… _never._

Sherlock propped up on his elbow, and ran his fingers through John’s hair. John looked down at him, into his eyes glowing in a way that John had never seen before; that he had never thought possible for Sherlock before.

He ran his fingers over the zip of John’s trousers. ‘Show me.’

John watched his fingers dance around his groin, watched his small smile as he fixated on the fabric that was obviously pushed out by John’s engorged cock. He reached down and took Sherlock’s slender, elegant fingers in his hand. He rested Sherlock’s fingers on his pulsing body and pushed in. Sherlock’s breath hitched, and he gently rubbed the warm and wet spot under John’s trousers. It was overpowering and John moaned loud and beautifully unrestrained sound that made Sherlock harden thoroughly.

‘John,’ Sherlock’s eyes dared him further, ‘make love to me.’

John licked his lips, and lost his words. He grabbed hold of his shirt from below, and pulled it up over his head. Sherlock watched the muscles stretch and pull, shadows dancing over John’s body. John threw the useless thing to the floor, and began with haste to take off his trousers, leaving nothing but his pants between his cock and Sherlock’s naked body.

‘Sherlock…am I doing what I think I’m doing?’ John asked, palming at his pants.

‘Fucking me?’

John exhaled softly.

‘Fucking a man?’ Sherlock asked, ‘…‘‘Deflowering’’ me? Soiling me? Violating my pure, innocent, little body for your own pleasure?’

‘Sherlock, I-’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Yes, John. Yes, it’s my first time and, yes, I want it to be you.’ he grabbed the hem of John’s pants and slowly pulled them down to his ankles, John’s stiff cock bouncing free. John’s head dropped back and he absorbed the moment of being hard and exposed in front of Sherlock. It was powerful and exciting and, in a way, comfortable. Sherlock bit his lip and looked closely at the length and thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his balls, the way everything was held between his legs…and then he touched it. Reached with his hand, and gently grazed the flushed head. John whimpered, and Sherlock nearly did with him. He wanted to know how John tasted, how his warm, pulsing flesh felt on his tongue.

‘John?’

John looked at him, at his open mouth and his faux confidence. He felt Sherlock’s warm breath on his cock, and deeper than that he felt the look in his eyes as they begged for permission. _Begged _him not to reject anything more, not to pick up his clothes and leave him naked, ashamed and heartbroken in the dim light and sweet smell of wax. Eyes that spoke and said, _Please, let me suck your cock. _

John tried to control his lust, he tried to be gentle as he wrapped Sherlock’s curls in his fingers, and pulled his face near his hot erection. He grabbed himself with his other hand, and swiped his cock over Sherlock’s tongue. Fluid dripped into his mouth, and Sherlock moaned as he analysed the new, long-desired taste that was introduced to him, and he moaned again when it was taken away.

‘John, mor-’ Sherlock grabbed hold of John’s cock and pulled it back to his mouth. John pushed his hand away and left himself rested against Sherlock’s lips. His soft lips and warm breath felt heavenly on John’s sensitive glans. Sherlock opened his mouth and gently licked at him, and John’s hand twisted in his hair.

‘I want you,’ Sherlock said, ‘I need you inside of me again, please, John, please. I’m so empty. Fill me, John.’

John groaned deeply. Sherlock could feel the sound in John’s tight stomach. John loved and hated how Sherlock knew what words to purr against his skin. He loved and hated the all too convincing, all too manipulative way that Sherlock was controlling him inside and out, and fuck, he’s a _virgin, _it should be illegal for John to provide him any experience. Just the way that his wrists rolled when he lazily stroked John’s length was enough to tempt secrets from the tightest of lips.

‘That wasn’t full, Sherlock.’ he said, and ran a hand over his face. ‘You weren’t even close to full.’

Sherlock bit his lip. ‘My emptiness is not of the physical, only dependent upon it.’

John took Sherlock’s face in his hand, gently stroked his cheek. Sherlock’s eyes glittered and seemed to change colour in the flutter of light. He looked away, and John followed his eyes to the night stand. There was a small package, hard to see in the darkness, but John knew it was a condom. He inhaled sharply.

‘It’s big enough for you. I took it from your room.’

Sherlock leaned over and grabbed it. John’s body twitched and pulsed everywhere; wanting. He wanted to pull open Sherlock’s legs, to hardly worry about tearing him open, to have him easily and hear him moaning without pain or struggle. This was not a possibility.

John kissed Sherlock gently, their lips making a small smack when he tore away, and he took the condom from Sherlock’s hand with him. Sherlock smiled comfortably, his eyes warmly watching John’s hands open the small package and begin to pull the condom over his penis.

‘Wait!’ Sherlock interrupted.

John’s hands stiffened. ‘What?’

Sherlock placed a hand forward, and carefully pushed the slick condom. ‘I can help.’

John licked his lips and watched Sherlock dressing his cock. It was a bit awkward, but good. He wanted to lean in, to thrust into Sherlock’s loose fist, but opted to control himself. Instead he watched Sherlock fit the condom and turn away from him. He situated himself on top of the bed and exposed himself, displayed his arse to John’s eyes. The skin, firm and round, was glowing. And the way Sherlock was bent allowed John to see how loose his hole was now… not loose enough yet, but loose to the extent that it made John’s cock throb to think that -if he really, _really _wanted to- he could fuck him now. Just like this. It would hurt, and Sherlock would make him stop, but he could do it.

John watched Sherlock’s scrotum clench. The excitement in Sherlock’s stomach was swelling, and with it his whole body had begun to feel larger. Not swollen, just abnormal. He felt excited, frightened, relaxed and content at all of the same time. He could feel John’s eyes upon him, and when he felt his genitals moving between his legs, he blushed; he knew that John had seen that, too.

‘Touch me,’ Sherlock moaned dreamily into the blanket. John had already intended to. Sherlock’s eyes shot open wide as his request was quickly met with John’s warm, wet tongue sliding up his perineum, over and into his hole. Sherlock tasted salty and the way that the smooth, internal skin felt against his tongue made John shiver. He began to suck gently and moaned when Sherlock’s legs shuddered.

‘John, yes.’

John’s lips popped off of him and Sherlock pouted.

‘Keep going.’

‘I am.’

John breached Sherlock’s loose entrance with his fingertip, and slowly followed with another, and then another. Sherlock was making a small, choked noise that must have been good, until John spread his fingers in his hole. Sherlock yelped as John began to pull him wider; it made John stop for a moment, but not long. He knew that he was all right.

Sherlock panted and held on tightly to the blanket, clenching it between his fingers. He mustered the obscene strength to look back, to meet John’s eyes, to watch as he fucked him with his hands. It made Sherlock gasp and shake, and it took all that John had not to wrap his hand around his cock and finish with those eyes watching him bury his fingers inside of Sherlock’s fantastic body.

John continued to alternate licking and fingering, until he was satisfied with preparation. He slid his cock over Sherlock’s open and exposed arsehole. The sensitive thing throbbed and ached, and Sherlock exhaled a sound dripping with anticipation. John gently pushed the end of himself inside and shut his eyes tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. The sensation on his glans was beautiful, the sensation in his soul, gorgeous.

‘Sherlock… oh, God, Sherlock.’

Sherlock’s eyes, on the contrary, were wide and wet. While his emotional reaction was comparable to John’s, the painful burning in his thighs from the foreign intrusion cast a dense fog over it. He was happy, euphoric even, but startled.

‘John, John!’ Sherlock released his hold of the blanket and threw his hand back for him.

John could feel the mild panic, Sherlock’s body clenching around his cock. He grabbed onto Sherlock’s hand and gently squeezed; with his other hand, he rested on Sherlock’s lower back and rubbed softly.

‘It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m sorry, I went too deep too fast. You are going to be okay. I am not going to hurt you.’

‘I know,’ Sherlock said quietly.

He released John’s hand and put his own on his arse, pulling the round flesh away from his hole.

‘Keep going. I’m all right.’

‘Breathe through your mouth. In and out. Try to stay steady.’

John carefully pushed himself deeper inside, breathing tightly as he tried to move as slow as he could, leaving Sherlock the choice to opt out at any small change. He was tight. So much tighter than a woman. John pressed more, and Sherlock’s breath hitched; John could feel his body move around him. Sherlock felt John’s cock twitch inside of him, and he knew that John knew where he was.

John laid his body over him, and wrapped his arms around. He rocked his hips gently, then with a slightly more impatient rhythm, and Sherlock could feel his eyes beginning to sting. Soon his throat was tight, and he began to sob as the rubbing on his prostate tore apart what little composure he was clinging to. It felt otherworldly. He moaned through his tears, until John slowed and pressed kisses along his spine.

‘Sherlock, it’s okay to cry, okay? Are you all right?’

‘Yeah-Yes,’ Sherlock whimpered.

‘I have cried a couple of times. You’re just overwhelmed, aren’t you? And that’s fine. You’ll tell me if I hurt you too badly?’

‘Y-Yes, John.’

‘Okay. Can I just take this as a compliment for now, then?’ John asked, smirking against Sherlock’s skin.

Sherlock laughed, and rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes. You seem rather skilled. Are you done baiting me to stroke your ego now?’

‘Oh! Is that what I am doing?’ John asked.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps.’

John moved his hips forward, pushing his cock ever slightly further inside. ‘My ego is the last thing I want stroked right now,’ he whispered huskily, ‘I can feel you struggling around me, Sherlock,’ his thrusts were becoming faster, rougher. Not a normal pace for John, it was still slow and gentle, but Sherlock’s arse felt like hellfire. ‘I don’t want you to struggle. I don’t want you to suffer, but I want you to take all of it. I want to hear my body slapping against yours. I want you to like it.’

Sherlock whined. ‘I do.’

John put his hands around Sherlock’s delicate hips, he caressed them gently, and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s abdomen, lifting him and pulling him tightly against his pelvis.

‘John,’ Sherlock moaned, his body felt warm and light as a feather.

‘Sherlock, you feel — oh, God,’ John watched Sherlock’s skin blushed deep red, his body moving in a dance that was completely new to it. He was so fresh and pure and beautiful. And John tried to burn what he was seeing into his memory, because he would only see it once and after he was gone it would be lost forever. This precious moment would one day be erased by time, and John’s head was going fuzzy. The orgasm that had been creeping in him was booming in his ears, and he wasn’t ready for it all to end yet.

‘Roll over,’ John instructed.

Sherlock was panting and didn’t respond.

John carefully slid out of his comfortable, human sheath. ‘Roll over.’

‘…uh?’

‘Lay on your back.’

Sherlock barely translated what John was saying, his eyes and his brain were filled with stars. But John rolled his finger and Sherlock was able to understand the basic idea. He moved slowly onto his back, nearly falling over in the process, but felt a great amount of relief to be out of the former position. Whatever happened from here, he was happy to be on his back.

John smiled and put his head between his legs.

‘John!’

‘What? Relax, it’s okay. It will be all right.’

Sherlock did not object any further, but watched John intently as he took his cock inside of his mouth.

‘Oh—OH!’

It took everything that Sherlock had in him not to scream and scream endlessly, but he was moaning so loudly that it was of little difference. The sheets were tightly in his fists, and he held onto them as if he would fall to his death should he lose his grip. His cock felt as hard as stone, John’s tongue licking up and down him threatened to make him come in mere seconds, and in only a couple of minutes he was.

‘_JOHN, JOHN, JOHN, OH GOD!_’

John’s mouth was filled, his tongue covered in semen squirting from Sherlock like blood from a severed artery. It was a powerful and long stream that ran down the back of his throat, and after a few seconds, it was done. Sherlock’s virginity was completely gone, and John had completely claimed him. His cock throbbed at the thought, a reminder that the night was not over.

John sat up on his knees and looked at Sherlock’s euphoric face. He looked like he might pass out.

‘Are you all right?’

Sherlock was breathing heavily. He did not say anything that might have been words, just ‘Hah, ah, ah.’

John ran his hands under Sherlock’s calves, and pulled his feet up against his chest. He gently pulled his arse cheeks open and pushed his cock back inside of his lover. Sherlock made a confused noise, but quickly noticed how hard John still was. In the intensity of orgasm he had forgotten that he hadn’t come yet.

John began thrusting, his position perfect for-

‘_AAAH!_’ Sherlock shrieked, his sensitive prostate electrified by John’s thrusts. Sherlock cried and squirmed, trying to get away from the overwhelming sensation, but John’s strong hands held him in place, and now Sherlock was actually screaming.

‘JOHN! FAAH!’

‘Sherlock,’ John growled, ‘Oh, fuck, fuck… just just. Yes, yes, Wa…_yes. __**Oh.**_’

It didn’t take long. John’s cock throbbed and filled with tension, and then it broke free. He shouted as he filled the condom, pulse after pulse.

‘Joh—’

‘Sherl…’

Sherlock’s legs fell to the bed around him, and John collapsed on top of his body. Sherlock was still breathing strange, a combination of the orgasm and the crying. They laid there for a quarter of an hour, both exhausted, both wondering where to go from here. Was this a path with potential to lead anywhere, or a horrible dead end that they had pushed one another into? John’s shoulders trembled. Sherlock put his hand above his wound, and slowly caressed over it.

‘I love you,’ he said, in a weak voice almost unidentifiable as his own.

John could feel that he was crying again. He could feel his tears falling into his hair, and the rise and fall of his chest had stopped. He sat up and looked down at him, looked into him. Sherlock watched his eyes staring into his own and wondered if he could see the pain that he was feeling.

John put his hand on his cheek, and ran his thumb over Sherlock’s trembling lip.

‘I love you, too,’ he whimpered.

John laid his body over him again, and kissed him. It wasn’t a soft kiss, it was a desperate one. He held onto him with lips and teeth, trying not to sob and forcing him to be convinced of every moment that he had wanted this before. Despite their attempts, they cried. They cried, and they kissed, and they laughed and smiled, and by some miracle they were both convinced that everything was going to be okay.

The storm was louder than it had been all evening. The thunder was shouting aggressively, the rain was abusing the windows and the wind silenced the city, but somehow, all of that seemed infinitely further away from them now.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write this scenario for a _very_ long time. I will admit that for John and Sherlock, tricking John into giving him a prostate examination, and just letting things...escalate...is a little bit of a fantasy of mine. I just wasn’t sure how I wanted it to particularly play out for a fic. I suppose that I could write different ones, it doesn’t really matter (can't have too much Johnlock), but this is what I ended up with. :)


End file.
